


The Price of Loyalty

by chicago_ruth



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, Facials, Fantasy, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-01 17:53:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15779109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicago_ruth/pseuds/chicago_ruth
Summary: Cathair's campaign to retake his father's lands is threatening to fall apart before his eyes. He needs a weapon.Fortunately for him, his brother is the most feared sorcerer in the lands. Less fortunately, his brother demands a price for his allegiance.





	The Price of Loyalty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ingi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ingi/gifts).



With the weather turning colder, the generals got restless. Cathair couldn’t blame them; he wanted to wage war in winter just as little as they did. But he knew if they broke for the winter, the fraud who called himself king would have enough time to recoup.

“It will take us another two weeks at least to reach Coerend,” Ethna argued. “We’ll be lucky if cold rain is the worst of what we endure. It’s already getting harder to hunt enough game to feed everybody.”

She had called the impromptu war council, and judging by the faces of those gathered, she had enough allies to make things difficult for Cathair. He couldn’t afford to lose her soldiers, especially not if she took her allies with her. That could easily bring his army down by half.

“If we turn back now, Berach will be able to call on his allies overseas.” Cathair pointed to the map spread out across the war table. “His allies won’t make a move until it’s safe to traverse the strait, which is the only thing that’s in our favor. Once Eskain gets involved, we’ll be so vastly outnumbered we might as well just throw ourselves on our own swords.”

“Ethna is right that we can’t sustain this.” Frassach stood at Ethna’s side, perhaps a bit closer than what was right for a man married with four children. “Find another way. Send an envoy to Eskain and convince them to support us instead.”

That had been the first thing Cathair had tried, before he’d even begun rallying his local allies. But Berach had cleverly forced the ruler’s oldest son to live in his court, making any form of allegiance risky. He’d even offered to rescue their son, and they’d scoffed at him. What could an exiled chieftain’s son do against a man who commanded half of the land?

“So you’ll go back to paying your _taxes_ come spring? You’ll fund his armies and hope he doesn’t use that money to wipe your territories off the map?” Cathair slammed his fist into the table, glaring at everybody present. “If you believe that he will rest in the winter, you’re sorely mistaken. He won’t just call his allies. He’ll use the time to equip his armies. Our advantage was that we took him by surprise and he didn’t have time to prepare! If he knows we’re coming—”

“And we’ll prepare too!” Ethna shouted back. “We aren’t beholden to the weather. We will have our blacksmiths create the sharpest swords for us. We will build fortifications, train our horses, recruit new men.”

“Where do you propose to get the iron? He still controls most of the mines!” The map had them all marked, the majority of them found in the north, beyond where they’d advanced to. They’d claimed one mine, but the south was poor in iron. By now, most of the archers were making their arrow tips from bone or stone, which simply didn’t last as long as the iron ones did.

“How do you plan to feed your army in the winter?” Frassach nodded to the other generals gathered in the tent. “What say you? Will you risk starving this winter? What will you tell your people back home when you returned defeated?”

Only two of the generals disagreed with Frassach and Ethna now. Cathair saw his entire campaign falling apart in front of his eyes. They were so close! With one last push, they’d be able to retake the capital, and then the rest of the lands would fall. But convincing anybody to press on now would be impossible, not without some form of guarantee.

The answer floated to the forefront of his mind.

“A weapon,” Cathair blurt out. “If I get us a weapon that will ensure our victory, will you stay with me just one more month?”

“In another month, it will be near impossible to return home,” somebody said.

“Three weeks. I need only a few days to get what we need, and once I’ve returned we can march unobstructed.” If he hurried, Cathair would be able to get there and back in two days. Another two weeks to march on the capital. And then... well. Hopefully the battle would be won in a few days. But if it ran longer, by that point the generals would have put so much into it that they’d be obliged to stay or risk humiliating themselves.

“And what kind of weapon could possibly guarantee our victory over Berach? We’ve had success so far, but that wasn’t when our army was hungry and cold, and never against a force as large as he’ll have at the capital.”

They all looked at him, and he forced himself to answer calmly, “The great sorcerer Nechtan.”

The silence was deafening. Frassach paled, and somebody off to the side stumbled back a few paces.

“Nechtan? He’s a madman!” Ethna made a sign to ward off evil. “How would you get him on our side? He’d just as soon turn on us.”

“No,” Cathair said. “He won’t turn on me. He’s my brother.”

* * *

Nechtan lived in a cottage that Cathair had helped him build. It was the last time they’d done anything together as brothers; shortly after that, Cathair had left to rally the southern chieftains to reclaim his rightful lands. Two years now.

It took two days of hard riding, with Cathair switching out horses at inns along the way, to reach the wooded lands with the out-of-the-way cottage. Out of the way, but not unknown; Nechtan’s magic was a spectacle that could often be seen for miles, and the surrounding villagers spoke with reverence of the sorcerer who came around to trade potions for supplies.

Nechtan was sitting on a bench outside, drinking from a flask by the light of the setting sun. He didn’t seem surprised by Cathair’s approach.

In the two years since they’d seen each other, Nechtan’s hair had grown long. It was the same shade of strawberry blonde as their mother’s had been, while Cathair’s hair was the darker, muddy color of their father’s. But they shared the same green eyes, and anybody who saw their faces would know instantly that they were brothers. Not even the beard Cathair sported could hide that resemblance.

“Good evening, brother,” Nechtan said, raising his flask. “What brings you to my humble abode?”

Cathair dismounted and approached carefully. He still remembered the sharp burn of Nechtan’s nails; when Nechtan grew angry, he took it out on anybody within the vicinity. “I’ve come for you, Nechtan.”

“Have you? Are you sure you haven’t come for my magic?” Nechtan took another sip.

“If you were a warrior, I would have you at my side always.” Cathair tied his horse to a nearby fence—a new one, but sturdy enough that Cathair suspected Nechtan had received help in building it.

Nechtan’s gaze raked over Cathair. “As I am not a warrior, you cannot be seen with me. What kind of demons infect me, that I am able to use the magic so easily?” He patted the spot next to him on the bench. “Come, sit with me, brother. I’m sure you have a wonderful story about how desperately you need me.”

With a shiver, Cathair sat down. He thought to maintain distance between them, but Nechtan closed the gap, leaving their thighs pressed against each other. The touch warmed him as no fire could have. “I’m about to raid the capital. Berach won’t know what hit him.”

“In winter?” Nechtan patted Cathair’s thigh. “How did you convince anybody to do that?”

“You. I told them you would fight with us.”

Nechtan laughed and slapped Cathair’s back; he didn’t withdraw his hand afterward. “Well. Well! It seems I was not wrong. Have you given up on that pesky little honor, then? Is father’s memory no longer so pure that you can’t taint it with my evil ways?”

“It was never the magic and you know it!” Cathair looked his brother in the eyes, and already he felt his convictions slipping. He’d told himself he would hold strong. A leader couldn’t give in to these disgusting desires. A leader couldn’t be seen to... be seen to...

Nechtan took hold of Cathair’s chin and smiled at him. “What will you pay me in exchange for my alliance? How badly do you want me as your weapon?”

Not that badly, he desperately told himself. But he thought of his campaign freezing up with the winter. He thought of their father’s corpse, impaled outside of the capital. Their mother sent as a prize to a foreign warlord. The justice he sought was so close, but he knew the tenuous alliances he had with the chieftains wouldn’t survive to the spring.

“Doesn’t it bother you? That Berach destroyed our family? I’ve thought of nothing but avenging father since the day we fled. Revenge should be payment enough!”

“I mourned, yes. But what does revenge get me? More anger, more hatred, more condemnation from those who would claim me as their friend. If I join you, brother, it will be for only one reason.” Nechtan let go. “So make your choice.”

In a way, it was an easy choice. Too easy. Two years without Nechtan, and Cathair had tried to convince himself that he was over it, that he had never wanted it the way Nechtan wanted it. But it was a lie, one that he buried deep within.

At least now he had an excuse: he needed Nechtan’s help. It was out of his hands. So he closed the distance between them and kissed his brother on the lips. He told himself this was only for the cause, and not because he’d barely gone a night without dreaming of his brother.

Nechtan clutched at Cathair’s tunic and pressed forward, opening his mouth and inviting Cathair to ravage him. Two years without, and still Cathair remembered Nechtan’s taste. He’d tried, on occasion, to take a lover, to drive away the nightly reminders of his sickness. Male or female, it didn’t matter to him, but in the end none of them were Nechtan.

When they broke apart, Nechtan was smiling. “How I’ve missed you. And I’m gratified to see that you’ve missed me too. Come.” He stood and took hold of Cathair’s wrist, pulling him into the cottage. 

The fire warmed the cottage and gave everything an ethereal glow. In one corner of the cabin stood the large bed they’d built together, covered in pelts. The bear pelt was the same one that Cathair had given him all those years ago, but there were newer furs as well. A wolf’s pelt, several deer furs, and quite a few rabbit pelts. It looked particularly cozy, and Cathair could easily see himself losing himself to pleasure here.

Nechtan led him to the bed and sat down. “Undress for me, brother. Let me see how badly you need me.”

It was necessity, Cathair repeated to himself, and not desire, not unnatural lust that had him obeying. He took off his heavy winter cloak and set it on the single chair in the room. He hesitated before remove the rest of his clothes, but he could feel Nechtan’s gaze on him, and it heated him from the inside. When he was completely naked, he turned to face his brother.

“You’ve filled out well,” Nechtan commented. “Turn around for me; I want to see that fine arse of yours.”

It was probably a good thing that the fire was the only light in the room, so that Nechtan couldn’t see how red Cathair’s skin had become. He felt the shame that mixed with his desire, felt the jolt at arousal when Nechtan murmured, “Very nice.”

His own brother! And yet. And yet. 

He waited until Nechtan ordered him to approach. None of Cathain’s other lovers had ever dared to order him around: he was the son of Faolan, the leader who had brought them peace and prosperity for twenty years. He was now the commander of the southern armies, leading them against Berach the Usurper. He was a great warrior, a great leader. No man or woman be so arrogant as to think they had the right to give him orders.

“On your knees, brother. I want to see that devotion shining in your eyes.”

Cathain fell to his knees. When Nechtan gave the signal—a gesture Cathain had not forgotten—he crawled forward, heedless of the roughness scratching his bare knees. He settled himself between Nechtan’s legs and gazed up at his brother.

Nechtan cupped Cathain’s jaw and smiled at him. “What a sight. I hope you remember how to suck cock, dear brother.”

Every little touch, every cruel word, sent tiny shivers of pleasure through Cathain’s body. 

Cathain undid the laces on Nechtan’s breeches and slowly pulled out Nechtan’s cock, warm and heavy in his hand. What little resistance he had left crumbled at the sight, the scent, of his brother’s cock. He remembered the afternoons where he spent hours worshipping his brother’s member, sucking and licking, leaving not a single inch of it untouched. Sometimes he simply held it in his mouth, keeping it warm while Nechtan read to him.

“Well? Go on then.” Nechtan nudged his face closer.

The first lick across the tip was hesitant, but once that first taste spread across his tongue, Cathain knew he had lost. He remembered this taste too, and it had haunted him in their separation. No other lover had ever tasted quite right. He widened his mouth and slid the full length of Nechtan’s cock into his mouth, eager enough that he didn’t care that it might choke him.

Above him, Nechtan moaned and spread his legs wider. “That’s good. Oh, I’ve missed this.” He took hold of Cathain’s hair and began directing him, pulling Cathain away and then forcing him down. Cathain went with it, his own cock throbbing and leaking with every little spark of pain. He thought of reaching down to jerk himself off, but he knew Nechtan wouldn’t appreciate that, so he kept his hands on Nechtan’s thighs.

“It’s not just this I want,” Nechtan said, thrusting into Cathain particularly hard. “I’ll help you. I want you too much not to. I—” he broke off into a moan, which made Cathain feel smug. He’d brought Nechtan to speechlessness.

After a few moments of heavy breathing, Nechtan collected himself though. He pulled on Cathain’s hair and pulled him off Nechtan’s dick. 

“My conditions,” Nechtan said. He wiped his wet dick on Cathain’s face, smearing fluids across the bridge of Cathain’s nose and on his cheek. “You will not marry. Not now, not in a year, not ever. I will help you win this campaign of yours, but if you think to take a consort, I will undo everything. Is that clear?”

Cathain took a sharp breath. “But—our legacy! How will our father’s line continue if I don’t—”

Nechtan slapped him. “You know I don’t give a shit about legacies. But I’m sure this war of yours has created enough orphans. Just pick one out and raise it as your own; the child will undoubtedly be happy to move into a life of luxury.”

It wasn’t the same. Cathain shook his head and leaned away from Nechtan. His cheek stung from the slap, but even worse was the humiliation: knowing he had debased himself like this, again, and for nothing.

“Don’t like that very much? That’s too bad. That’s my condition. I will fight with you, I will be by your side, but I refuse to let you pretend you don’t feel for me the same that I feel for you.”

Refusal was on the tip of his tongue, and he had opened his mouth to speak, but Nechtan slapped him again. 

“Don’t say anything you’ll regret,” Nechtan warned. “Think of all the time you invested in collecting your little army. Think of how Berach laughed when he had Father’s corpse mutilated. Think of our poor mother, sent to be somebody’s concubine.

“And think of me. Think of how good you always feel when I take care of you. I’ve never led you wrong, Cathain. If you’ll stand by me, you know that you’ll have nobody more loyal to you than I.”

Cathain closed his eyes, hoping to staunch the tears that suddenly threatened to overwhelm him. “If anybody finds out about us—”

“By then you’ll be a warlord. You’ll be feared across the entire continent. And nobody, _nobody_ will dare to speak a word against you. Does that not entice you?” Nechtan bent down to kiss Cathain’s forehead. “It will be the two of us together once again. Nobody will be able to stop us.”

As they’d been during their youth, before their father had been killed, before Cathain had tried to pull away. It should have been easier; he was four years older than Nechtan, bigger and stronger in every way. He’d once considered the possibility that Nechtan was using foul magic to bind them together, but there was no evidence of that. Cathain had felt this pull towards Nechtan even before his younger brother became adept at magic.

“Why can I not resist you?” Cathain whispered. “You make me feel so weak.”

“You make me feel strong,” Nechtan answered. “Now give me your answer.” He began stroking himself in earnest again, occasionally slapping Cathain’s face with his engorged cock.

Cathain closed his eyes and opened his mouth. Nechtan’s groans grew louder, his breathing more harried, and the hand in Cathain’s hair pulled tight. A moment later Nechtan’s hot seed splashed across Cathain’s face, dripping into his open mouth.

“Good choice,” Nechtan whispered.

* * *

With Nechtan’s help, they broke past Berach’s forces and retook the capital. Cathain impaled Berach personally, and as the man lay dying in a pool of his own blood, Nechtan used his magic to slowly burn the skin off of him. His cries echoed throughout the city, amplified by Nechtan’s magic.

Ethna and Frassach were happy to stay in the capital for the winter, but once spring broke they took their soldiers and went back home. Cathain could see in their eyes that they weren’t satisfied with how events had ended. 

“They’re going to turn on you,” Nechtan said, wrapping his arms around Cathain from behind. “But don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

Even in the privacy of his own quarters, Cathain wanted to flinch away. But he knew that he needed to keep Necthan appeased.

He would need him, after all, to secure his rule and ensure that the other chieftains didn’t rise up against him.


End file.
